Remember (Billy)

I remember, bright warm mornings, bathed in the shadow of the hills and the music of the birds. The rock, studded in the mountain, protruding rudely as if in denial of its place under the ground. Looking down at the green-roofed and wooden houses. I climbed it once, clawing at the tumbling dirt of the mountain, using tough shrubs as ropes. Shaped like a couch, as if giants had carved it out to watch the town below grow. I remember, the creek, the quarry and the pine tree. All slowly counting the years. I remember, watching as a family packed and moved.